


we fixed each other up

by corvidscribe



Category: Fallen Hero Series - Malin Rydén
Genre: Gen, Multi, Nightmares, Other, Scars, idk what more could you want, mole poblano, spoon's there i promise, what the fuck idk how to tag this
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-17
Updated: 2020-12-21
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:15:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28125219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/corvidscribe/pseuds/corvidscribe
Relationships: Ortega/Sidestep (Fallen Hero), Ortega/Sidestep/Steel (Fallen Hero), Ortega/Steel (Fallen Hero), Sidestep/Steel (Fallen Hero)
Kudos: 11





	1. Chapter 1

It’s kind of a shock when it finally happens -- they were always adamant they wouldn't let it. No staying over. No letting down their guard.

But now, they're asleep on Ortega’s couch.

When they wake up, he'll act like it's no big deal; if it'd happened years ago he would've teased them relentlessly for it, but he didn't know then what he does now. Sure, Crow was always flighty in their Sidestep days, but now, Ortega just. He knows, and he doesn't want them to stop trusting him again. Stop liking him. Keep being afraid of him, even if he can't help his _pinche_ static brain, even if they know it's not the same.

He frowns to himself, leaning against the doorframe, torn between continuing to work on dinner in the kitchen and just… watching them. Is that weird? Maybe a little weird. Whatever. It's incredible how soft they look when they're asleep, none of their usual nervous energy coming off them in waves, no bite, no bark, just their fluffy hair covering their face, their cheek squished up against a throw pillow, expression neutral and calm, eyelids twitching as they dream.

Their movie (and it is _theirs_ , Ortega’s not really sure they've ever watched anything but All Dogs Go to Heaven) has long since ended, some time during the last couple of hours when Ortega was busy with the mole sauce. He considers turning the TV off, but doesn't want to disturb their sleep by breaking up the monotonous, white-noise loop of the DVD menu. A last glance at the pots still simmering on the stove, to make sure they won't bubble over anytime soon, and Ortega abandons the cooking to sit on the floor next to the couch, face only a foot or so from Crow’s.

By now, Ortega’s spent ages studying Crow’s face, but it still makes him smile every time. Usually that smile is met with a declaration of “Idiot!” or a “quit staring, _cabrón_!” from them, followed by a pinch on his arm or an obviously fake punch aimed to miss, but not this time. It’s a rare opportunity; Ortega figures he should grab it while he can.

He doesn't really think as he does it. It's just instinctual, he watches the ends of Crow’s curls brushing against the bridge of their nose, he reaches out, and he brushes them away, pushes the hair back from Crow’s face. A whole series of things happens in the moment after that. Ortega exhales, thinking first about how nice it is to see their whole face; he smirks as he notes that ah, they do have eyebrows after all; and then he fully registers the massive scar running almost clear across Crow’s forehead, even up into the hairline on the tight. It's deep, the scar tissue pale, indented, run through with raised lines, and there are dots along a lot of it where there must have been stitches at one time.

Ortega moves his hand away, cupping their face with it instead. His mouth is dry, suddenly. He has a decent guess where this scar came from.

As soon as the thought crosses his mind, as if they could read it, Crow’s breathing quickens, brows furrowing, corners of their mouth turning down in a grimace. He falters, not wanting to startle them awake but unsure what else to do. A low moan that sounds too much like a sob and too much like the word “no” escapes Crow’s mouth, so Ortega gives up being delicate and grabs both their shoulders and shakes, gently as he can, shakes them back into consciousness.

Their eyes fly open and fill with tears and before Ortega can think twice about it, right as Crow’s hands move reflexively to cover their face and as a scream strangles itself in their throat, he’s pulled them to him and folded them tightly into his arms. For a moment, he thinks they’ll freak out, try to hit him, yell at him, but they… don’t. They just slip down onto the floor, just about in Ortega’s lap, and they heave breath after shuddering breath into the crook of his neck, hands grasping at the apron he still has on to steady themself. Maybe they think he doesn't notice the tears dampening his shirt, and that's fine, he's not about to say anything. He’ll just keep holding them tight and whispering, “shh, shhh, _está bien, te tengo, tú estás a salvo_.”

Crow eventually calms down, seemingly unwilling to move out of Ortega’s embrace until his phone chimes from its place on the kitchen counter and the two of them clamber awkwardly off the floor so he can go check it. Crow follows him into the kitchen and starts poking around at the food.

“It’s Chen,” Ortega reports, earning a silent nod from Crow as they mess with the stove burners. “He says he's running late but he'll get here any minute now. Spoon’s coming, too.” Crow seems to perk up a bit at the mention of Spoon, and Ortega smiles to himself-- or not.

“What are you smiling about, old man?” Crow pipes up, the last of the shakiness leaving their voice, replaced with their usual gruffness.

Ortega shakes his head, still smiling. “Nothing. Don't burn anything,” he warns, but they're already back at it, digging a spoon through the chopped vegetables simmering in one of the pans to find a piece they want.

“Are… are you okay?” He asks, accepting the fact that Crow may well take a swing at him for asking. They don’t, though. They just pause for a long moment, totally silent, until they look over at him again.

“No,” they reply, “But you helped.”

The two of them stare each other down, Crow looking like they think they've started a battle just by admitting it. Par for the course. Ortega quirks up an eyebrow in challenge.

“Do you need anything el--”

“Thank you,” they cut through the offer, a standard Crow behavior mixed with a very non-standard show of appreciation. They drag their feet doing it, but they walk over to stand in front of Ortega, looking up at him.

“No need to thank me, _cuervito_. I want to know, though… Does that happen a lot? Is that why you won't stay over?” He's not sure whether he should really expect an answer, but it appears to be an evening of firsts.

“Yeah. It’s part of it,” they sigh, looking resigned, like they threw the fight by admitting as much. “It's not a big deal. I’ve had nightmares for years, I just don't think it's fair to subject you to them. Or Chen… or Spoon, for that matter. Besides, you know I don’t like to let--”

“Let down your guard. Yes,” Ortega interrupts, “You must know by now I don't think you're subjecting me to anything by needing help, Crow. And anyway, didn't you just let your guard down? And nothing bad happened because of it.”

They grimace. Give him a look with those tired brown eyes. Squint, huff, cross their arms, roll their eyes. Like they're going through all their options for acting defiant and contrary, one by one. Ortega knows the process well.

“I guess,” they finally grumble, the irritable look on their face at odds with the fond tone of their voice. “Jesus, Ric, if you want me to stay over that bad you could just ask, you don't have to lure me in with dinner and wait ‘til I have a big emotional panic attack.” The words are harsh, but Ortega’s dealt with Crow for long enough to know there's nothing behind them. He knows the right angle to look from to see past the facade.

“You and I both know you wouldn't stand for me taking the easy way out,” he replies. He reaches out, this time on purpose, to push their hair out of their eyes. Crow bats his hand away, then takes it in theirs anyway, and Ortega smiles -- should've seen that one coming.

“You're right. But don’t let that go to your head.” And with no further warning, Crow stands up straighter and reaches their arms around Ortega’s neck to kiss him. No doubt they're on tiptoes, have to be to reach him like this. He smiles into the kiss.

Maybe he’ll eventually bring up the scar, or how cute they look with their hair back, but for the moment he'd rather avoid Crow biting his head off over it. That's his moment alone to hold onto for now. This one, they can share. He envelops Crow into his arms again, deepening the kiss, only to be interrupted by a familiar tap-tap-tap at the door just before it swings open.

“And here I thought you invited us both for dinner,” Chen deadpans as he approaches the kitchen, Spoon running in a figure-eight around Chen’s legs and then Ortega and Crow’s. There’s the slightest hint of a smirk on his face as Crow drops back down and busies themself petting the dog. “Evening to you, too.”

“Yeah, hi, Chen,” Crow says, not breaking eye contact with Spoon. “Stop knocking before you come in. You have a key. It’s weird.”

“I did invite you for dinner, and it's just about done. Crow just had other plans,” Ortega tells Chen, approaching him and going in for a kiss on the cheek that leaves him blushing, faintly enough that Crow might not notice this time--

“Aww. Lovebirds.” Crow cackles, peering at the two of them out of the corners of their eyes. No such luck, then-- but no cutting remark over Ortega’s quip about them, either. Not too long ago, they would never have left that alone. Ortega figures he’ll count it as a win.

“You're one to talk.”

Chen’s brow furrows as Crow stands up again, the range light hitting their face in just such a way that-- oh, there it is. Ortega can just make out the leftover tear tracks in Crow’s face, so he knows Chen saw them right away. Ortega always thought of himself as decently observant, but compared to either of his partners… well, he's been proven wrong a lot by now.

Ortega turns to the stove again, tending to the food to give the two of them some space. They pretend to bicker for only a moment before exchanging a kiss of their own that about melts his heart. Ortega turns off all the burners and checks the cornbread in the oven. He sneaks a glance again; Crow’s leaning their head on Chen with the slightest of smiles. Ortega knows Chen will ask them what happened later, and Chen will handle it better than Ortega can ever figure how to handle things. That’s just not his forte. He and Crow get on each other’s nerves to show love, but Chen and Crow just… match. They used to be so different. Ortega still can't quite wrap his head around what changed, but… whatever the case may be, he's glad it did. No point questioning a good thing. Not these days. Too much time wasted with questioning already.

“Here, watch this with me,” Crow says from the other room. “I fell asleep like ten minutes in.”

Chen groans. “Don't you think we could watch… Maybe anything else in the world?”

“It’s fine. Spoon likes it. And anyway, I’m staying over tonight. I’m like the guest of honor, so I get to pick.”

Shaking himself out of what’s about to turn into much too down a mood, Ortega starts plating the food. Spoon takes up his usual place, curled into a big gray circle on one side of the couch. Chen settles down on the opposite end, and Crow onto the floor, right where they sat with Ortega earlier only now with a pillow propped against one of Chen’s legs to rest their head on.

“Stop fucking with that mole and come sit with us, Ric.”

Ortega meets Crow's eyes through the doorway, and a smile spreads across his face as he moves to join them on the floor.


	2. makes me well again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's only a couple kinds of conversations you can have in the middle of the night (or the early morning). Maybe this is one of the bad ones. Depends on your perspective.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is apparently gonna keep happening so I would say, expect a chapter 3. I have too many emotions about Chen and Ortega to contain in 4k words. OTL  
> Crow's POV this time, 2nd person, etc etc. Enjoy!

“You awake?”

* * *

You’ve been drifting on the edge of sleep for what could be minutes or hours when you hear Ortega’s whisper. You’re not completely sure who he’s asking at first — between you and Chen — but you’re also not sure you want to answer anyway. Luckily, Chen seems to be the one intended to answer, and after his mind blinks itself awake, he does. Chen shifts onto his back, the arm that had been draped over your waist moving away suddenly, and you fight the urge to move closer again, keeping still, pretending to sleep. Let them have their conversation. It could be interesting.

“I am now,” Chen’s voice is quiet, gravelly with sleep. “Something up?”

“Not… not really.” Ortega sighs. “I’m worried about Crow, but what else is new?”

There’s a long pause. You wonder if Chen fell asleep again; you can’t see his or Ortega’s face in the darkness, and even if your eyes adjusted you wouldn’t be able to see over Chen’s shoulder. The temptation to tap into his thoughts to get a better read on the situation is brief, and not very strong; you resign yourself instead to just listening.

“Did something happen with them before I got here? I noticed…”

Chen breaks the silence again, and Ortega is too quick to respond, a little too loud. If you weren’t awake already, he would have woken you by now, but you just keep fake-sleeping; steady, heavy breaths, keeping still.

“They fell asleep on my couch.”

Chen gives a single, quiet laugh. “And still panicked over staying the night.”

“Mm.” Another long pause. “They were out a while. Had a nightmare, I think— I had to wake them up, they were…” A sigh from Ortega, almost shaky. “It was bad, I could tell. They told me it happens a lot.”

“I’ve figured as much. They’ve told me they have trouble sleeping. Can’t blame them, with everything that happened after— after…”

There it is again. The unspoken name. Ortega still doesn’t say it for the same reasons as ever; you know for a fact that Chen falters every time he’s about to nowadays. _Heartbreak_ sits on the tip of his tongue and never leaves, not just because of what it meant to begin with, but because of the promise he made only too recently. He won’t say Heartbreak because he knows it’s yours now, and Ortega still doesn’t.

“They told you that?” Ortega can’t seem to contain the laugh; short, breathy, mirthless. “I think if they ever admitted even _that_ much to me they’d have to kill me.”

Your chest tightens. You hold in a breath, whole body tensing for a fraction of a second before you regain control. That’s not _fair_.

“Crow wouldn’t—“ Chen seems to start voicing the panic you feel, voice louder than he means it to be, terse, defensive, before he reigns himself in. “Sorry. I know you’re not serious.” Chen assumes the best from Ortega. That he's joking.

“Yeah. I guess I’m not.” Ortega’s reply is too short and too deadpan. “I just… I want to believe it’s not personal, but I don’t understand why they won’t trust me, even after all these years.”

You fight yourself to keep still. Fight your mind to keep quiet, even though it’s threatening to open the floodgates at a moment's notice. It’s all you can do to shift your mental focus toward Spoon, sleeping on the couch not too far away, dreaming peacefully. He’s like a life preserver in a storm. Guilt washes over you in waves, almost tangible, bearing against your mind, pulling you down. This was a bad idea. This was _such_ a bad idea. You should’ve gone home.

Ortega and Chen keep whispering back and forth, something about trust, something about Crow, something about how things are probably fine _but_.

You, meanwhile, are shaking. Thank fuck for whoever made Ortega’s ridiculous California-king-sized memory foam mattress, which the two of them can’t feel that through. You keep thinking about earlier — the fuss you made about whether you should really stay or not, the concerns about whether Ortega would hate you by morning shoddily disguised as ‘jokes,’ your demands for Chen to stay too, and to sleep closest to the bedroom door with Chen between you and Ortega, shoddily disguised as passive suggestions. God. You’re really such a prick. And Ortega thinks you don’t trust him. And… and he’s right.

Maybe he thinks you don’t love him, either. You almost start rubbing your face, but remind yourself to keep still. Doesn’t seem to work for your eyes— you’re tearing up.

Ortega’s voice tunes you back in to the matter at hand.

“I’m not saying they owe me anything, Chen. I’m worried, that’s all. I know you’re too good to sell them out, but it’s just me. I just need to know if they are…”

Silence. Dead silence. Your blood runs cold.

Need to know if you are _what_?

“I can’t,” comes Chen’s tired reply. “Please. I can’t tell you.”

Oh, fuck. Oh, _fuck_.

Keeping still ceases to be a concern, as you’re frozen in place. Focus on Spoon again. Dog dreams dog dreams dog dreams. God, your focus is gone, and Ortega just keeps talking.

“When they were asleep earlier, I was looking at their face. I pushed their hair out of their eyes, and they have this— this massive scar across their forehead. I guess I don’t know for sure, they’ve had those bangs since 2007–” a quick laugh, actually genuine, that untwists the knifelike feeling in your heart by a millimeter, then a clearing of his throat— “but, I think it’s from… back then. And I _know_ it’s the same as the line across Heartbreak’s helmet.”

The air leaves the room. You could swear you’re slowly dying in Ortega’s bed, and he doesn’t even notice. Fair enough, when you’ve been found out and you wouldn’t have known if you were really sleeping right now. You can't really say you're upset that the secret is out, but the way it's happening...

Mercifully, Chen doesn’t remark on that line of thought. “I really can’t, Ricardo. Please, just talk to them yourself.”

It barely matters anymore. _Just fucking tell him!_ You want to scream. _Stop dancing around it! Stop **me**!_

But you stay quiet.

A few more silent moments pass, and you wonder if one or both of them finally fell asleep. You're still fighting tears, eyes wide open and darting around the unfamiliar shapes of Ortega’s bedroom. Then, Ortega sighs.

“I will. I’ll talk to them. _Mierda_.” The mattress barely moves as he clambers out of bed, his figure casting a shadow over the bed from the faint light out in the hall. “I need a drink. Want anything, _cariño_?” Chen declines, and Ortega walks off, leaving you to fall apart in the dark wh—

“Crow. Are you okay?”

You’re not expecting it.

Chen turns back toward you, and you roll over to face him. His hand tentatively rests on your shoulder in an offer of embrace that you accept with no second thoughts. That’s all it takes; the dam breaks. Lost for words, you let the tears fall instead, figuring at least he can’t see them anyway. You lean into his mind, a buzzing hive of concern and tenderness you allow to wrap around your own, as he pulls your body in close to his, skin to skin. You don’t say anything for a moment. He says plenty, just not out loud. No need. He trusts you to listen as much as you want. He trusts you in a way you trust him, but not in a way you trust Ortega. God, that fucking hurts.

“I’m okay.” You whisper it, barely audible. “I’m okay.” He answers it without saying a word: You’re okay, you’re okay, you’re okay. _We're all okay._

Neither of you really think that’s true, but saying it helps. Makes it a little more true, if you tell the same lie over and over. Until it gets caught out, anyway.

“Thank you,” you whisper. No verbal response, again, just Chen’s arms holding you tight, and his mind a warm blanket.

The sharp feeling like a knife to your nerves fades, slowly, but it does fade. By the time you hear Ortega making his way back down the hall, you’re almost entirely calm.

Ortega’s just stumbling into bed when you put on a neutral, half-asleep voice and tap Chen’s shoulder.

“Switch sides with me?” you ask, feeling the dip in the matress as Ortega sits on the edge of his side. Chen moves toward you, supporting himself on his elbows, and you climb awkwardly over him to the middle of the bed, pausing to lean down and kiss the side of his face. He returns the kiss and you crawl back under the covers with him, cozying up with your back against his chest, his lips pressing kisses along your shoulder. You open your eyes again, blinking slowly as they adjust to the low, low light.

Ortega, still sitting up and seeming to tower over you in the darkness, stares wordlessly at you, at the shape of you anyway. You can just make out by the whites of his eyes in the darkness. It’s a long, long moment, feeling Chen’s reassuring warmth at your back even as your worry shivers out from your core, your whole body trembling. Finally, Ortega gets back into bed with the two of you and something that’s been winding itself up inside you loosens just a touch.

You still stare at each other as he moves in closer, Ortega’s face only faintly visible in shades of dark gray like an undeveloped photo. It’s Chen’s thought first, which you happen to catch and latch onto as it passes— it’s almost unbelievable that you’re here right now, between him and Ortega, letting yourself be vulnerable. What’s more, you realize as you take the thought for yourself, you’re not worried about that anymore.

Maybe it’s just the concern over Ortega drowning out other anxieties, but you feel secure. You would bet your life that neither of them would ever do anything to hurt you, would ever let anything hurt you… not again. You kind of are betting your life on that right now, and it’s dizzying to realize how confident you are in doing so.

It feels wrong not to say anything, so you’re about to take the loss and be the first to break the silence when you reach out, on impulse, to touch Ortega’s face at the same time he reaches out for you. You don’t flinch— just laugh quietly. You can just make out Ortega’s smile.

“I’m sorry, Ric. I’m sorry.” You realize, biting your lip, that an apology sounds a little apropos when you were allegedly asleep for that whole conversation. “For earlier, I mean,” you add. Just redirect. You have plenty to apologize for.

Ortega’s brow furrows. “ _Cuervito_ , it’s fine, I’m not upset with you.”

You’re not sure what to say to that. No way to know if it’s true, nothing you can pick out through the wall of static in Ortega’s brain and not enough visibility to read his face. You just lay there, looking at the outlines of his features, letting him trace his fingers across yours. When he reaches your hairline and goes to run his thumb across the scar, the big one, you let him. No point hiding it anymore.

“We have to talk,” you whisper. “Later. In the morning, maybe.”

He chuckles. “It _is_ the morning. But you're right. Let's get some sleep first.” His eyes flutter closed. “I love you, Crow.”

You bite your lip. “I know,” you reply, and just to remind him, to remind yourself, you say it back this time: “I love you too.”

Like your brain has decided that was enough for one night, suddenly, you can barely keep your eyes open. It was beginning to feel like you'd never be able to relax here, earlier, but now… you can't tell if it's just how tired you are, or if something has really changed so quickly, some internal switch flipped. With Ortega's fingers twined in your hair and his face close to yours, and Chen’s arm in place around your waist again, you drift off easy. You don't dream again that night.


End file.
